Page 1 of Dream Weaver (Spellbound in Sedona #3)

Nothing beat the drive home after a successful fight with a wildfire. Soot-smeared, sweaty, exhausted, but proud and happy, everyone would joke and laugh, even if they weren’t entirely coherent. Nothing bonded a group of near-strangers faster, forging them into a brotherhood for life, even if some of those “brothers” were women. Age, race, sex, pay grade — none of that mattered, because you were a team, working together.

The drive home after an operation gone wrong, on the other hand…

That was soot-smeared, sweaty, exhausted, and very, very quiet. Everyone had their eyes shut or on their boots, and the only sound was the creak of equipment and the rumble of tires over asphalt.

On my right, Joe checked his watch, then showed it to me. I knew exactly what he was thinking. The helicopter that had airlifted Sam out had probably just arrived at the hospital. It wasn’t life-or-death, but a leg broken that badly could be career-ending, in as much as this crazy job could be called a career.

Passion was more like it, even if most people didn’t understand — like that California congressman who’d called wildland firefighters “unskilled labor.”

Unskilled , my ass. We’d worked three days straight with only about three hours of fitful sleep.

I fingered my ax, wondering how well that congressman could heft it and for how long. How many acres of pristine wilderness he would be able to save, or how many homes. Or how pitifully he would beg if his home were surrounded by flames.

The truck hit a bump, making everyone jostle.

“If my helmet could talk, it would cough,” Vic grumbled, tracing a line through the soot.

“If only we’d had our lucky ax…” Joe sighed.

All the veterans nodded. Some of the newbies too.

I was somewhere in between — new to this fire crew as of a week ago, but on the cusp of my eleventh season of firefighting.

“You really think it was the ax?” Mark, one of the rookies, asked.

The veterans stared, like he’d suggested Jesus wasn’t Mary’s baby.

“We’ve had it for three years,” Alice, eight-year veteran of the Yavapai Hotshots, finally answered. “Three years without an accident. Nothing worth mentioning anyway.”

Ha. Knowing what firefighters considered worth mentioning , that left a lot of scope for pain and suffering.

“No accidents, and not a single fire that caught us as off guard as this one,” Alice finished grimly.

Another understatement. The fire had jumped a road and come roaring at us on an out-of-nowhere wind shift. We’d been lucky to escape with just one serious injury and most of our equipment.

My secret, animal side mourned for all the forest dwellers that hadn’t escaped the inferno.

It had taken us and three other crews days to get the blaze under control. And this was just the preseason.

“Ever had a call that close?” Chuck, another rookie, whispered.

Much, much closer, actually. A fire that still figured in my nightmares.

I nodded quietly.

“You really think the ax would have made a difference?” Mark asked.

No one actually came out and said, Of course, you idiot , but their looks did. I half expected them to cross themselves and murmur Amen at such heresy.

Baseball players were famous for being superstitious, but firefighters were even worse. Every squad had a lucky token of some kind, and every crew member had their own personal totems. Lucky underwear, lucky bandannas, lucky socks… My sister even carried a lucky straw.

I’d never felt the need for a lucky anything, but now, I was reconsidering.

“I don’t get it. Who would steal an ax?” Joe muttered. “From a fire crew, no less.”

“And not just any ax, but our lucky ax,” Alice said bitterly.

I’d arrived a day after it had disappeared, but apparently, it was a beauty, commanding a place of honor in our lead truck on every single operation since it had joined the department three years ago.

Yes, joined really was the term the crew used, like the ax had marched in of its own volition one day.

You’d think that ax was a holy relic, the way the crew spoke of it.

“We should never have told that reporter about it,” Vic muttered.

That was another thing about this crew — all the conspiracy theories about who’d stolen the lucky ax and why. Most started with the magazine article that had brought the lucky ax to the attention of budding thieves across the country.

And, hey. Who wouldn’t want a tool that was rumored to control fire?

Personally, I found the whole thing a little nutty.

“What made it so special, again?” Mark asked.

Vic snorted. “Where do I start?” He let a beat go by, then ticked off an entire list on ash-smeared fingers. “Custom-made. Perfectly balanced. Never needed sharpening…”

“Gorgeous lines. A real beauty,” Joe added.

Chuck gave me a look that asked, Is he talking about an ax or a thoroughbred?

“Where did you get it?” Mark asked.

“A local blacksmith made it for us,” Alice said.

“Can we get him to make a new one?”

“Get her to make a new one, you mean.” Alice looked at the cab of the truck, considering. “Maybe we can. I’ll ask the captain when we get in.” Then she sighed. “I just hope she can work her magic again.”

I shifted in my seat. Magic?

Rumor had it, you couldn’t swing a black cat in Sedona without hitting some kind of supernatural, be that a witch, warlock, shifter — like me — or even the occasional vampire. Enough that a secret government agency tasked with monitoring such things maintained an office in town. I even knew the agent staffing it — Ingo, a wolf shifter I’d worked with a few times before he’d left firefighting. I’d given Ingo a call when I’d arrived in Sedona, but we hadn’t had a chance to meet up yet.

I made a mental note to ask him, though I hoped the rumors were exaggerated, especially when it came to magic. My clan didn’t exactly pal around with witches and warlocks — not since a series of deadly clashes in my home range. That bloody interlude happened two centuries ago, but old grudges still ran deep.

Parched scenery blurred past the truck window. I stared off into the distance, thinking. Had it been a mistake to leave Wyoming for a season in Arizona? I hoped not. But things weren’t exactly off to a great start, and we were technically still in the preseason.

I closed my eyes, trying to reserve judgment. If this crew turned out to be as weird as I feared, I could always head back to Wyoming. But I would see the season through first — and hopefully quench the inexplicable urge to come to Sedona that had been eating at me ever since I’d passed through for a fire a few years earlier.

It’s our destiny, my inner beast rumbled.

I snorted, thinking of the arid landscape and this superstitious crew. This was my destiny?

God, I hoped not.

I folded my arms, tucked my chin against my chest, and let myself drift off to sleep.